


miles from where you are

by akaparalian



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex, Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: “Alexander,”Magnus repeats, with just the slightest undercurrent of a tremble in his voice. “Are you trying to initiate phone sex?”Alec’s smirk twists into a grin. “What’re you wearing?” he quips.--Or, one of the guest rooms at the Los Angeles Institute gets quite an earful.





	miles from where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Sssso. My very first offering to this fandom, which I've been at least a tangential part of for like seven or eight years now, and it's complete filth. You're welcome?
> 
> Title is from "Set the Fire to the Third Bar," which is completely tonally inappropriate for this fic, but what can you do? If you enjoy this (or even if you don't!), I'm on Tumblr at [floralegia](floralegia.tumblr.com) and Twitter at [akaparalian.](twitter.com/akaparalian)
> 
> Enjoy! <3

There are plenty of things Alec doesn’t like about New York, and there always have been. The sheer amount of _noise_ , for one thing, and the entire concept of Times Square, and the subway, and a million other little things that annoy him day-to-day about the city that’s been his home for as long as he can remember.

Los Angeles makes him forget every single one of them.

“I miss _walking_ ,” he grumbles into the phone that’s pressed between is shoulder and his ear as he shoulders open the door to his room. “Seriously, Magnus. We took an Uber today. An _Uber_.”

Magnus, on the other end of the line, shows absolutely no shame about laughing right in Alec’s face. Well, his ear, but still.

“Did any of you think to take a photo, or will I have to live with just the imagined wonder of you, Stanton, Maia, Isabelle, and Dorothea all crammed into a rideshare?”

Alec rolls his eyes and sits down heavily on the bed. “No, we didn’t take a _picture_. It was bad enough that we had to live through it once; I didn’t exactly want to preserve it for posterity.”

“Pity,” Magnus sighs extravagantly on the other side of the phone.

For far from the first time since they’d portalled to LA, Alec finds himself caught in a sudden, desperate wave of wishing that he wasn’t sitting in a guest room at the Los Angeles Institute alone, but that Magnus was here with him. And, really, by all rights he should be — the only reason _any_ of them are here is the Downworld cabinet, after all. With the New York cabinet continuing to make progress, and the New York Institute at top of mind for most American Shadowhunters after everything they’ve been through in the past few years, they’d started to receive messages from the heads of various Institutes around the country in dribs and drabs, starting a few months ago.

Seattle had been first; there’s an incredibly strong Seelie presence there, and a very storied vampire clan as well, and the head of the Seattle Institute is young enough to be more open to new lines of thinking than many of her counterparts. That first one had come as a genuine shock, to Alec if to no one else; he still remembers getting the message, asking for his advice — _his_ advice — in how best to start up their own local cabinet, and feeling shock and nerves immediately bubble up in his chest. He’d stared at the message for a solid minute, panicked slightly, composed a response that hopefully hadn’t sounded too frazzled, and then pointed them towards the various members of the New York cabinet themselves.

They’d ended up visiting Seattle in person, too, which hadn’t been so bad. It was a little bit of an exotic experience, getting to take a mission outside of the city, and Alec had never been to the west coast before; the weather had been a pretty significant departure from what he was used to, but not one he necessarily hated, and the meeting had gone pretty smoothly. That time, Magnus had been able to come with them — it had been him, Magnus, Simon, Maia, and a Seelie knight named Gehrra, who had gone in Meliorn’s stead. The Seelies have always been the least interested in these new cabinets cropping up around the country; they have their own complicated politics, Alec knows, which stretch across state and national borders in ways that most of the rest of the Downworld’s really don’t.   

Which probably explains in part why they’ve sent — of all people — _Izzy_ as their representative this time. Alec’s never been less sure of what’s going on in the Queen’s head, but whatever. Ultimately, it doesn’t affect him, except that he gets to take this trip with his sister, who does _not_ share his reservations about Los Angeles and is thoroughly delighted to be here.

Magnus’ voice drags him back up out of his thoughts. “So,” his boyfriend says, as Alec lets himself lean back against the rock-hard mattress and flat pillows that apparently come standard at every Institute. “Other than your distaste for the City of Angels itself, how are things progressing?”

Alec shrugs, though Magnus, of course, can’t see it. “Fine, I suppose. We had a tour of the facilities, and met the representatives… I still can’t believe there are any vamps out here at all, with how sunny it is, but the clan head seems like the easiest to get along with of all the Downworlders here.” She’s sharply funny, and she had swapped pop culture references with Simon that had flown over most everyone else’s head.

“I imagine she probably is. High Warlock Sharp is not my favorite person,” Magnus admits, sounding amused.

Alec can understand why, based on their introduction today; the man is incredibly dour.

“The meeting is tomorrow?” Magnus adds.

“Mmm. Over _brunch_ ,” Alec says, as though the word has done something to offend him, which, of course, it has. A Downworld _brunch_ meeting? The vampires are having to stay at the Institute overnight to make the whole thing feasible at all. It’s… not exactly how Alec would have done things, himself, but everyone here seems inclined to go with it, so he’s held his tongue.

Magnus laughs delightedly. “Don’t say that, you’ll tempt me to move out west. Why doesn’t _our_ cabinet have brunch meetings? It’s terribly classy. And it’s not like it would bother dear Stewart — we have a somewhat unique advantage in that respect.”

“Abso _lute_ ly not,” Alec shoots back immediately. His voice is flat, but he can’t quite hide the fact that his lips are curling up into a smile, despite his best efforts.

Magnus snickers, then purrs, “Careful, Alexander, you know how I love it when you get all authoritative.”

He’s joking — of course he’s joking; it’s obvious in his tone if nothing else. But, well, Alec thinks, shifting slightly in a futile attempt to get comfortable on this horrible bed and thinking back on the stressful day he’s had in this city that he hates. There’s nothing stopping him from playing along, is there?

“Oh, I do,” he agrees, his voice dipping down an octave and rumbling out of his chest.

He waits, quiet enough to catch the way Magnus’ breath hitches in surprise across the airwaves, unable to stop himself from smirking just a little bit at the sound. Just three little words — and not even the ones he would usually expect to take Magnus’ breath away.

The silence stretches on, just long enough that he almost starts to second-guess himself. Before doubt can set in, he adds, in that same low, rumbling tone, “You know, I’ve been thinking of you all day.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says slowly. “Are you…?”

Alec’s smirk grows, even as he can feel a blush rising in his cheeks. He’s suddenly exceptionally aware of how empty the room is, how echoing — how his sister is just next door, on the other side of the wall, probably on her way to bed, how he’s surrounded by strangers.

“I’m sure you remember Seattle,” he continues, shutting his eyes. “Thankfully, the bed there was more comfortable than the one I’m in right now.”

Magnus takes a deep breath, and it hisses in Alec’s ear. He’s still fully clothed — dressed up, at that, in his second-nicest suit and a shirt that had once been Magnus’.

“ _Alexander_ ,” Magnus repeats, with just the slightest undercurrent of a tremble in his voice. “Are you trying to initiate phone sex?”

Alec’s smirk twists into a grin. “What’re you wearing?” he quips.

Magnus chuckles softly, clearly amused, but also a little breathless, which absolutely goes to Alec’s head. “Really?”

Alec does genuinely take a second to think it over. He’s in a strange place, and not one hundred percent sure how thick — or thin — the walls are, and he has quite a big day tomorrow, and besides _all_ of that, Magnus had wished him a very, _very_ thorough goodbye just yesterday.

But when his eyes drift shut, the image that paints itself across the backs of his lids is Magnus, curled up alone in their bed in the loft, the sheets pooled around his waist, dark against his bronze skin.

“Really,” he says, the word coming out as half a hum.

“Clearly, we need to get you out of New York more often,” Magnus purrs, and Alec can’t help but bite his lip at the darkly amused tone in his voice. “I think the west coast is a good influence on you, darling.”

“No, that’s all you,” Alec informs him. Then, hesitating only slightly, he adds, “I couldn’t get you out of my head all day. It’s been less than twenty-four hours and I already can’t stand how much I miss you.”

Magnus makes a soft, warm noise. “I miss you, too,” he says, even though they both already know it. Alec can feel Magnus missing him almost as much as he can feel himself missing Magnus, in a way.

“Are you in bed?” he asks, and it’s only partly because he’s still trying to be a little sexy; he’s also aware of the time difference and genuinely concerned, knowing Magnus’ sleeping habits tend to skew towards unhealthy when he’s not around.

“Yes.”

There’s a gentle sound in the background; shifting fabric, maybe — is he on speakerphone? Alec shifts, desperately wishing he could get comfortable on this stupid mattress, but also half-aware that he’s restless because of Magnus on the other end of the line, not just because of the stupid bed.

His mind races. What to say? He doesn’t want to push it too far, too fast; he’ll sound like an idiot, though Magnus would never tell him so and would probably just find it adorable. Alec would know, though, and he’d probably never be able to get up the courage to do this again, and if he’s going to be making more of these trips in the future, he really doesn’t want this option to be taken away from him by his own awkwardness.

So he thinks, carefully. And then he says, “I wish I was there. I wish I could kiss you.”

It’s simple, and it’s true. And it leaves the ball in Magnus’ court, because it could either be taken at face value, as relatively innocent, or it could be the path to something… well. Less innocent.

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, just the gentle crackle of the telephone in Alec’s ear, and for a heartbeat, old anxieties and doubts rear their heads and he almost thinks that maybe Magnus isn’t even there anymore, maybe he’s not going to answer. But then Alec hears him take a deep, steadying breath, and all of those things melt away, until there’s just him and Magnus again. As it should be.

“And that’s all you would do?” Magnus teases, but there’s an undercurrent of heat, and, beneath that, deep, unyielding affection. Alec grins.

“That’s how I’d start,” he says mildly, his pulse racing in his ears. He lets his eyes flutter closed and brings one hand to rest on his stomach, his thumb stroking restlessly over his shirt, occasionally catching on a button. “I don’t feel like I kiss you enough.”

He can practically hear the arched eyebrow and wry smile in Magnus’ voice. “Why do I feel like that’s because you think you could _never_ kiss me enough?”

“Because it is.”

“Well, darling, you know the feeling is mutual.” There’s a moving-fabric sound again, and behind Alec’s eyelids, Magnus is stretching out in bed, silky sheets slipping down around his hips until they’re not leaving much at all to the imagination. “I have half a mind to steal you away to a remote island for the next twenty years and ensure that you never get out of bed again.”

“But Magnus,” Alec says, and at this point the flat, mild tone of his voice is so exaggerated that he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “If we never got out of bed, how would we properly appreciate the couch? Or the kitchen table? Or the wall? Or—”

“Stop, stop,” Magnus says, laughing, and Alec can perfectly picture him rolling over onto his side, one arm under the pillow, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. “You’re right, of course. That was an oversight on my part. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Alec says sternly, and this time Magnus’ laughter is more of a throaty chuckle, just this side of breathless. There’s another beat of silence, and then Alec’s blood rushes south so fast that he goes a bit light-headed, because:

“I’m not wearing anything,” Magnus says, matter-of-factly, but also a little bit like a challenge.

“What,” Alec chokes, his eyes snapping open, fully aware that this situation has just flown out of his control — not that he’s exactly disappointed by that, but still.

“You asked, and I never answered,” Magnus reminds him, sounding smug, but still clearly a little breathless. Just breathless enough that Alec lets his eyes drift shut again, picturing the way he’s probably smirking, the delighted spark in his eyes, and starts to fiddle with the top buttons on his shirt, his shoulders flexing restlessly under his jacket. Why is he still wearing his jacket, again?

“Well, you’re ahead of me,” he manages eventually, nibbling mindlessly on his bottom lip. “I’m still in my suit.”

Magnus makes a delighted little sound, which Alec files away for further consideration, because it’s too much to think about right now. “We’ll have to revisit this exact clothing situation when we’re actually together, sometime,” Magnus says, and the thought of that his Alec like a truck — him, in his suit, crisp lines and the sharp contrast between the dark, heavy fabric and the paleness of his skin, and then Magnus, in _nothing_ , just the wild light in his eyes and the coiled power in his limbs and the warmth of his skin…

Alec takes a deep, slow breath and tries to steady his heartbeat.

“Anything you want.”

His voice is raw and rough, but he’s counting the fact that he was able to say anything at all as a victory.

“Anything? Be careful what promises you make, Alexander.”

Magnus’ voice, meanwhile, is sweet and heady and honeyed, spreading slowly through the air just so, such that Alec can _almost_ pretend that he’s just on the other side of the bed, not the other side of the country. Though if he were here, there wouldn’t be any bed separating them at this point, Alec reflects, even as he taps quickly at his phone to put it on speaker and starts to struggle out of his jacket.

“Oh, believe me, I know exactly what I’m promising,” Alec groans as soon as his arms are finally free of the confines of the jacket, flinging it across the room without even stopping to think about how wrinkled it’s going to be in the morning. There are _way_ more important things to think about right now. “ _Fuck_ , Magnus.”

“That is the general idea, yes.” But Magnus moves quickly past that, the quirk of amusement flying out of his voice to be replaced with something steadier and more serious. “Am I wrong in thinking I just heard you take the suit off?”

“Just my jacket.”

Magnus hums. “And as for the shirt — if I remember correctly, you left wearing one of mine.” There’s no mistaking the possessiveness laced through his words, something Alec’s more than familiar with at this point. There’s a reason he’s started slowly pilfering more and more of Magnus’ things, even though Magnus has to adjust them to fit every time. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. The red one, with the hidden buttons,” he says, even though he knows Magnus probably remembers, even as he starts slowly working his way through said buttons, letting the shirt fall open across more and more of his torso, teasing himself with little brushes across his neck, his chest, his stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

Magnus hums again, the sound distinctly appreciative. But he doesn’t say anything for a moment, apparently content just to listen to whatever little hints of sound he’s catching from thousands of miles away, so Alec takes the opportunity to go back on the attack himself.

“You never let me finish telling you what I’d do to you,” he says, undoing the last button and leaving his hand resting low on his stomach, his nails scratching gently at the top of his pants, which are starting to become really, distinctly uncomfortable. “If I were there, I mean.”

“I suppose I didn’t,” Magnus allows, laughing a little breathlessly. Then his breath hitches audibly, and Alec’s eyebrows shoot up, because he knows what kind of thing usually accompanies that sound.

“Kissing is all well and good. _Very_ good. But I never can keep my hands off you.” Alec swallows, wets his lips. “I want to touch you, Magnus. Maybe the way you’re touching yourself right now.”

Magnus laughs breathlessly again, and now that he’s sure it’s not his ears playing tricks on him, Alec can hear a very familiar, slightly wet sound. “Busted.”

“Yep,” Alec confirms, popping the ‘p’  and trying to undo his zipper as loudly as possible. In his mind, he sees Magnus’ fingers, rings and nail polish and all, moving steadily over his cock, and in his mind, at least, if not in reality, he can cover them with his own; he can practically feel the phantom warmth and weight of Magnus in his hands. It’s certainly a familiar enough sensation. “What, you thought I don’t know what you sound like with a hand on your dick? Give me a little credit.”

He gets a low, throaty groan for that, and behind his eyelids he sees Magnus’ back arching off the bed, up into his own hand and Alec’s imagined one. It’s all Alec can do to not rip his pants straight off; he manages to stick to just shimmying and shoving until they’re around his thighs and he can reach into his boxer-briefs and finally curl a hand around his aching cock, but it’s a near thing.

“Fuck,” he groans, stroking himself once, twice, three times, before he shoves his underwear down around his thighs, too. His cock bobs up to his stomach, and he skates his fingertips up the side of it before running his thumb firmly over the head, teasing himself just a little. “Fuck, Magnus, I wish…”

“I know, petal,” Magnus breathes out, the sound crackling through the phone line, and Alec hears the bedsprings creak under him. His mind races, trying to imagine what could have caused that — Magnus sitting up, changing position? He hears the sound of a drawer opening, and then a lid clicking open, and suddenly he understands. 

"You going to finger yourself, Mags?” he asks, his voice so rough it’s almost unrecognizable, his free hand winding its way into his hair and tugging, a counterpoint to the way his other has sped up on his dick at the very thought of Magnus on his knees, reaching behind himself, his fingers slick and shiny. “You going to fuck yourself open for me?”

He’d almost be self-conscious about saying something _that_ filthy, except he knows exactly how Magnus is going to respond to it, and he’s not wrong: he’s rewarded with a moan that’s long and low and almost surprised, like it’s been ripped out of Magnus’ throat without his permission.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, desperately, breathlessly, his breath hitching. “ _Fuck_.”

Alec can’t help the way his dick violently twitches at that, and honestly, he doesn’t think he can be blamed, either. There’s something about reducing Magnus — well-spoken, honey-tongued Magnus, who can keep up a stream of smoothly seductive dialogue well into carnal acts that would have many other men speaking in broken half-syllables — to just words like _fuck_ and _Alexander_ and also _yes_ and _more_ and _harder_ and so on.

Or, to put it more simply: Alec fucking _loves_ making Magnus swear like that.

“That’s right,” Alec all but croons, sounding raw and wrecked even to his own ears. Magnus is groaning and panting into the phone and in his mind he can see him, fingers working in and out of his ass, his other hand on his cock, and Alec, well… His hand is moving harder and faster on his own dick as his brain-to-mouth filter finally completely and totally sputters out of existence. He doesn’t have any lube, and there’s no _way_ he’s getting up at this point to see if there’s lotion or something in the bathroom, so it’s hard and rough, but at the moment that’s exactly what he needs. It gives everything just that little bit of an edge, and it’s helping him to hang on just enough, because if he knows anything right now it’s that he’s not ready for this to end just yet.

“If I was there, you wouldn’t have to,” he says, scarcely breathing, “because I’d rim the shit out of you until you came. I love doing that. I love the way you just give and give when I fuck you with my tongue, I love the sounds you make, I love —”

“Shit,” Magnus curses. “Fuck, Alec, _fuck_ ,” and then he lets out a soft little cry that Alec just _knows_ means he just brushed up against his prostate, because Alec’s been the cause of that sound more times than he can count, and it’s always the same, and it _never_ fails to make his dick somehow impossibly harder.

“Magnus,” he breathes, biting down hard on his bottom lip and tugging hard on his hair at the same time, pretending it’s Magnus’ fingers pulling at his scalp and Magnus’ teeth sinking into his lip and Magnus’ hand squeezing tight around his cock as he bucks up into it. “Fuck, the _noises_ you make.”

Magnus laughs breathlessly at that, even as the sound warps around another moan. “Y-you’re one to talk,” he says, and the stutter literally affects Alec so much that he has to squeeze tightly at the base of his dick to keep from coming then and there.

“Oh, no, don’t pin this on me,” he growls once he feels like it’s safe to start jerking himself again, his breathing rough and uneven. No matter how much he’d like to stay here all night, just like this, he knows he’s not going to last much longer, not with Magnus gasping for air on the other end of the line. “You and your filthy fucking mouth —”

“I’m sorry, who was the one talking about eating me out until I came just a moment ago?” Magnus shoots back, and clearly, if he’s able to string that many words together at this point and even sound taunting while he does it, Alec needs to step his game back up.

“Well, you could always sit on my face to shut me up,” he says, and Magnus groans so loudly at that that he has to bite back a vicious grin. “Or you could fuck my mouth, I’m not picky, I just fucking love how you taste, how you sound when you come down my throat, or all over my face — you don’t do that often enough —”

“ _Alec_ ,” Magnus all but sobs, and Alec doesn’t even try to bite back the low, guttural moan that rips out of him in response. “Alec — Alexander — I’m so _close_ , I —”

“Come for me,” Alec responds immediately, “fuck, Magnus, come on —”

The sound Magnus makes when he comes, long and low and almost painful, sends Alec over the edge so fast and so hard that he hardly even realizes what’s happening, and he certainly no longer has any idea what sounds he’s making, too caught up in the white sparks dancing in his vision and the pleasure pouring into him and through him as he strokes himself through it.

It takes him a remarkably long time to come back to himself; when he finally blinks his eyes open to see the unfamiliar ceiling staring back at him, he lets out a long, gusty sigh, a sound of pure contentment.

Magnus chuckles on the other end of the line, and Alec’s lips twitch up at the sound.

“So, how’d I do for a first time?” he jokes, halfheartedly reaching over to the bedside table to see if there’s a box of tissues there and letting his arm flop back to the mattress, boneless, when there isn’t.

“Hmm,” Magnus remarks lightly, his smile audible. “Very well, darling. Very well indeed. But I think we’ll need a larger sample size than one if we want to determine success with any sort of scientific accuracy.”

Alec laughs quietly, giving up on cleaning up for the moment and settling for just kicking his pants the rest of the way off instead. “Oh, naturally.”

“And we haven’t even come close to broaching the various ways magic can assist us in this situation,” Magnus continues. “I happen to know a few spells which might have… slightly unconventional, but enjoyable applications in this arena.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your experimentation,” Alec says seriously. “Who knows what potential magical discoveries are out there?”

“Indeed. So we’ll just have to do this again sometime,” Magnus responds in a similar serious tone. “For — science. Or the good of humanity.”

“Or because I miss you,” Alec suggests.

Magnus’ tone softens immediately. “Or that, Alexander.”

They lapse into silence for a long moment, their breathing evening out fully and starting to match up on either end of the phone line as they each just lay there quietly, basking in stillness and satisfaction.

But it’s getting late — and even later in New York — and Alec _does_ have a big day tomorrow. “I should go,” he says softly, regretfully. “But thanks for — uh — talking to me.”

“Oh, so _now_ you get flustered about it,” Magnus teases, but his voice is incredibly tender under the light layer of taunting. “Sleep well, my darling. I’m sure your meeting will go perfectly tomorrow.”

He’s probably right, Alec knows; he’s not too worried about the outcome. Even if it _is_ a brunch meeting.

“Sleep well, Magnus,” he responds softly, and hangs up the phone with a tap.


End file.
